Rivalry Rewritten
by Ell Roche
Summary: What if Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy weren't enemies? What if they were friends, allies, or brothers? A vignette collection.
1. Mimic

**NOTE:** This is a vignette collection in which Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy will not be enemies. The vignettes are not consecutive or related to one another unless otherwise indicated. Vignettes are short, so please don't ask me to lengthen them. I'm very busy right now, so please be grateful that I have time to write at all. I know I am!

**Prompt:** Mimic

* * *

"Why do you mimic him?"

Harry Potter sucked in a deep breath, but didn't glance away from the calculating gray eyes at the end of his wand. They were more piercing than normal. If accusations could be spouted silently, then he was drowning in them. "Excuse me?"

"I'm not having you on, Potter," Draco Malfoy said, gaze narrowing. "I really want to know." For once, he didn't sound condescending. "Why do you mimic him?"

Shoulders slumping, Harry whispered, "He's my father."

"Aren't you the one who was Sorted into the house of the brave?" queried Draco. He shoved up the left sleeve of his school robe and bared his arm; it wasn't tainted by the Dark Mark. Ignoring the wand in his face, he leaned forward and stated, "Just because he's your father doesn't mean that you have to walk in his footsteps."


	2. Swim

**Prompt:** Swim

* * *

If Harry Potter didn't know how to swim, he wasn't sure he would have been able to stop himself from cursing the Triwizard Tournament judges into oblivion. Everyone who had organized the Tournament was mental! And seeing as Lucius Malfoy's only child was being held hostage at the bottom of the Black Lake by an army of Merpeople, he should have Minister Fudge booted out of office by the end of the day.

Harry blew past Fleur Delacour, who was being assaulted by grindylows. Normally, he would stop and help. That was the type of person he was: kind, honorable, and helpful. However, with only an hour for search and rescue, he couldn't chance losing Draco Malfoy.

Nobody at Hogwarts understood their friendship. People whispered about them on a constant basis, and it irritated Harry to no end.

Bubbles escaped his gills in a rush as he dove deeper and ducked around the Giant Squid's tentacles. Luckily, it seemed more interested in a half-shark Viktor Krum and let him swim past.

The students' and professors' constant question escaped his mouth in a rush of bubbles. "Why?" Everyone wanted to know _why_. Why was Harry his friend? Why didn't Harry cast him aside? Why did Harry put up with Draco's bad attitude, Death Eater father, slurs, and condescending sneers? Why was the Boy Who Lived friends with a bully? A Slytherin? A Malfoy? On and on it went.

Even though he was tired, Harry pushed himself to swim faster as the Merpeople village came in sight. He ripped a trident from a Merman's hands and used it to slice the rope tying Draco to a pillar. He dropped the trident and swam upward, arm wrapped around Draco's chest beneath his armpits.

Draco coughed as they surfaced, body shaking as he spat water. "My hair!" Draco glared at him. "The things I put up with for you, Harry. There better not be photographic evidence of this in _the Daily Prophet_ tomorrow," he grumbled.

Since the gillyweed hadn't worn off, Harry couldn't reply. He just rolled his eyes and towed Draco back toward the dock. The closer they got to shore, the louder the clamor was from the stands. Countless people were stunned, offended, upset, and enraged that the Boy Who Lived's hostage was a Death Eater's son.

"Why?" several people yelled.

Even if he had been able to speak, Harry wouldn't have answered them; some questions are too personal. Some truths are too precious to share. But he knew why he put up with all of Draco's faults. Draco Malfoy had never stared at his lightning bolt scar, or asked to touch it. Draco had never asked if he remembered watching Voldemort murder his parents. Draco was the only person Harry Potter had ever met in the Wizarding World that respected his family tragedy enough to keep his mouth shut.

"Stop thinking so hard, Harry. You're still touching me; you might give me wrinkles!" Draco waved a hand theatrically, splashing water onto the dock. "If you give me wrinkles, I'll never forgive you!"

But best of all, Draco didn't stick him on a pedestal. Draco didn't want to be allies with the Boy Who Lived. He wanted to be friends with Harry Potter.


	3. Struggle

**Prompt:** Struggle

* * *

The bottle of Firewhisky was tempting. It leaned against Harry Potter's thigh, threatening to smack onto the floor and roll away every time he shifted. He fiddled with the cork as he slouched against the wall. The cold of the stone had seeped through his clothing hours ago, but he couldn't bring himself to get up. What did it matter, anyway? They were all gone.

"I'm getting sick of this, Harry!" Draco Malfoy yelled as he threw open the door to the Room of Requirements.

Harry didn't even flinch. He blinked dazedly, eyes dancing across the posters and photographs on the walls. His favorite was the one on the bedside table right next to him, and the reason he had chosen to sit on that part of the floor. Five people grinned and waved at him from the frame; he reached forward and touched his face, fingerprints smudging the glass.

Draco slammed the door and stalked across the room. He came to an abrupt halt when he saw the Firewhisky. "Are you drunk?" he inquired, horrified. "You told me you never wanted to drink alcohol, because of your revolting Muggle relations."

"No, I'm not drunk." It was tempting, though. Wasn't alcohol supposed to make people forget? Right now, all he wanted was to forget. At the same time, he would do anything to hold onto the memories—real or not.

"Give me the Firewhisky," Draco ordered. He reached down, fingers curling around the neck of the bottle.

"No!" Harry tried to pull it away. "I might give it a try and—"

"You will not!" Draco hissed, eyes narrowing to slits. The struggle didn't last long; Draco wasn't above petty or dirty tricks. He stomped on Harry's wrist to get him to release the bottle. It wasn't hard enough to break it, but it would bruise.

"Ouch!" Harry glared at him. "What was that for?" The pain smarted, forcing him to focus on the present, even though he didn't want to do so.

"For being a self-centered, conceited, unmitigated prat!" Draco yelled. "You defeated the Dark Lord, only to fall into a coma for three months. My grades dropped so much that Granger is beating me in almost all my classes. I'm losing to a filthy Mudblood who turns up her nose at pureblood customs and calls me a bigot." He looked like he wanted to punch Harry in the face; it wouldn't be the first time. Their friendship was volatile, but they could take whatever the other needed to get out. "And when you finally woke up you acted as if it would've been better if you never woke up at all!" Draco's shoulders heaved and his eyes were crazed.

"It would've been better to never wake up," Harry whispered. He laid his wrist on his chest and stared at the picture on the nightstand again.

Draco's voice was little more than a rasp. "What?" He paled, which was difficult to do with the Malfoy complexion.

"It was the most wonderful dream world." Harry tried to smile, but it was lop-sided and painful. "Dad and Mum were alive. I had two sisters, Rosalinde and Iris." He blinked back tears. "It would've been perfect if I had a brother. I always wanted a brother."

The bottle of Firewhisky shattered after Draco threw it. It soaked the headboard, having taken Harry's beloved picture with it. The frame was broken, the glass in slivers, and the Firewhisky ruined the photograph.

Draco fisted his hands. "Thank you for correcting my assumption, _Potter_. It's ever important for a pureblood to know where he stands in regards to relationships with others." His whole body was taut. "I'll see myself out and not bother you again."

Harry grabbed his ankle before he could take a single step forward. It wasn't manly for a seventeen-year-old boy to cry, so he bit his lip and pressed his face against Draco's leg. "Don't go," he choked out. "Please don't leave me alone." He swallowed and grasped Draco harder. "You're the only family I have in this world, Draco."

Sighing, Draco crouched down, and then sat once Harry let go of his leg. He leaned against the wall and wrapped an arm around Harry's shaking shoulders. "Little brothers are a handful. They throw too many tantrums."

After snorting, Harry smiled for what felt like the first time in years. Because it had seemed like years to him while he was in the coma. "Older brothers are bossy and overprotective."

Draco smirked down at him. "Got a problem with that, Harry?"

Harry breathed a sigh of relief at the return to his first name. He hadn't destroyed the best thing in his real life. He vowed to himself that he would never put it in jeopardy again. "Not at all."


	4. Fish

**Prompt:** Fish

* * *

"What's the matter, Potter? Did you have a fight with the Weasel and Mudblood? Do they not love you anymore?" Draco Malfoy taunted, fishing for either information or a fight.

Harry Potter stared at the window, taking in Draco's distorted reflection. Crabbe and Goyle weren't standing behind him, hulking masses of muscle. Draco was rarely without them. The interruption irritated him, but he decided to ignore it. Draco loathed not being the center of attention. Soon enough, he would get bored and leave.

"Oi, Potter! I'm talking to you!"

He wasn't deaf, but Harry wasn't above acting it on occasion. Life would be so much easier if he didn't have so many people's words and voices echoing through his head. Right now, it was Ron and Hermione's badgering that wouldn't leave him alone. Even though he had wandered across the castle, ending up in an area he didn't recognize, without the Marauder's Map or backup, he still felt hounded.

"Nobody ignores a Malfoy!" Draco spat. He stomped forward, like a child throwing a fit. But he came to a quick stop when Harry decided to speak to him.

"Do you ever wish . . . ?"

Draco's voice was cautious as he responded, as if he thought Harry was trying to uncover family secrets. "Do I ever wish what, Potter?"

Harry turned around and locked gazes with Draco. "Do you ever wish that you could be someone else?" He blatantly fished for personal information, as Draco had earlier.

Sneering, Draco deflected the question. "What? Is being the precious Boy Who Lived not good enough for you, Potter? You want to be the Minister for Magic now?"

"Only an idiot would want to be the Boy Who Lived," Harry whispered. "Or a masochist, I suppose."

Draco reeled backward. "Have you gone mad, Potter? What are you talking about?"

Then, Harry laughed as the Dark Lord Voldemort laughed: high-pitched and more than a little insane. "The Boy Who Lived is an orphan, and his mother was murdered in front of his eyes. The Boy Who Lived was raised in a cupboard in the Muggle world, by Muggle relatives who hate him, told him magic didn't exist, and that his parents were drunks. The Boy Who Lived's godfather was more interested in getting revenge than caring for him, and twelve years of unjustified imprisonment in Azkaban did nothing to change that. The Boy Who Lived is stalked by one of the most evil Dark Lords of all time, and all his henchman. The Boy Who Lived gets splashed across newspapers and dragged through the mud for telling the truth, for trying to do the right thing. Of course, that's after the Boy Who Lived is the subject of false rumors, invented scandals, and outright lies."

Harry lifted his right hand and ripped the bloody bandage off, revealing raw skin and oozing wounds that read: _I must not tell lies_. Draco flinched. "The Boy Who Lived is tortured daily at his teacher's behest." The blood-stained gauze fell to the floor. "The Boy Who Lived isn't allowed any privacy, not even from his friends." Harry's shoulders slumped; he wiped his bleeding hand down his face. "So tell me, Malfoy, why _anyone_ would want to be the cursed Boy Who Lived."

Draco drew his hawthorn wand. Harry didn't even attempt to draw his; for some reason, he didn't think Draco would hurt him. He was proven right when Draco traced his wand over the words on Harry's hand and said, "_Vulnera Sanentur_." The blood flow stopped, the wound was cleansed, and the skin knit back together.

"M-Malfoy?" Harry stuttered. The look in Draco's eyes was resigned. It unnerved Harry; Draco wasn't the type to give up.

"Why would anyone want to be the Boy Who Lived?" Draco laughed, and it wasn't pleasant. "Because the Dark Lord doesn't live in the Boy Who Lived's house. Because the Dark Lord just killed the Boy Who Lived's parents, instead of torturing them for amusement whenever he feels like it. Because the Boy Who Lived isn't under the Dark Lord's thumb; he's free of his presence almost every day of the year. Because the Boy Who Lived is Headmaster Dumbledore's favorite, and so protection is offered to him without a passing thought. Because even if he doesn't get any privacy at all, the Boy Who Lived has friends—not just allies. Because if the Boy Who Lived ever died at the Dark Lord's hand, people would cry for him. Because good people actually want to help and save the Boy Who Lived." Draco shook with emotion. "So tell me, Potter, why _anyone_ wouldn't want to be the blessed Boy Who Lived."

Harry felt dizzy from the change in perspective. And before he realized what he was going to do, words tumbled out of his mouth. "I'm Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. And your name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy." He offered his newly healed right hand to Draco. "I found out some wizarding families are much better than others, Malfoy. _You_ don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

Draco stared for the longest time, as if he thought Harry was planning to pull the cruelest prank in the world. But even when Harry's hand started to shake with fatigue, he didn't lower it. A glimmer of hope appeared in gray eyes. Then Draco Malfoy shook Harry Potter's hand.


	5. Protect

**Prompt:** Protect

* * *

The magic in the wards surrounding Grimmauld Place shifted, yanking Harry Potter to consciousness. He was the only one who possessed unfettered access through the wards; everyone else couldn't enter unless he was physically with them. However, something or someone was traveling through the wards.

Harry sat up in bed, cursing the interruption. Ever since the year on the run with Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, he was unable to fall back asleep after being disturbed. It made for some awful early morning Quidditch practices with Puddlemere United, but he hadn't fallen from his broom yet.

"Oomph!" Harry grunted as a warm weight impacted against his chest. It knocked the breath out of him. He felt fingers clutch his pajama shirt and glanced down to see a head of white-blond hair, wide gray eyes, and a pale, pointed face. "What in the world?"

The kid, who couldn't be older than five, gaped at him before reaching up and poking his scar. "You're Harry Potter!"

Giving a sigh of resignation, for he had long become used to that reaction—and honestly didn't mind it when it came from children—Harry said, "Yes, I am. And you are?"

"Malfoy, Scorpius Malfoy," he said before sitting cross-legged on Harry's stomach.

Harry closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. Well, at least the kid had Black blood through his grandmother; maybe that was how he had been able to get through the wards. He couldn't have Apparated, so it must've been a Portkey … but how would he obtain a Portkey to Grimmauld Place? Oh, no. "Your father's going to kill me," Harry groaned. The last thing he needed was Draco Malfoy, rising star of the Auror Department, to accuse Harry of kidnapping his heir.

Scorpius frowned. "Why? Did you do something wrong?"

"Does your father know you're here?" Harry asked, though it was a foolish, desperate hope. How had Scorpius Malfoy, of all people, gotten a Portkey to Grimmauld Place?

"Um," Scorpius's face wrinkled in concentration, "maybe? The Abraxan threw me when I was higher than the manor. And Father said if I was ever in danger to say 'Safe with a Gryffindor.' And his nose was all wrinkled while he said it. But he promised it would bring me to Harry Potter. And he said you would protect me, because even though you're a prat, you're a good prat." Scorpius smirked, as if pleased he had remembered all his father's words.

A Portkey that would take Scorpius directly to him? Harry squeezed his eyes shut. What was it with people stealing his blood and using it in obscure rituals without his permission? It was annoying! Yet he was proud, and kind of touched, that Draco Malfoy would trust him with Scorpius in an emergency. None of his friends had done that.

The sound of someone pounding non-stop on his front door made Harry roll his eyes. "And that would be your dad, Scorpius. We better go let him in before he breaks his hand knocking." Harry scooped Scorpius up, settled him on his hip, and headed out of the master bedroom, down the stairs, and to the front door. He passed a mirror that informed him his hair was messier than normal, the bags under his eyes weren't glamoured, and he was wearing Muggle sweatpants and a ragged T-shirt. This was not how he preferred to receive company—unexpected company at that.

Harry opened the door to see Draco and Astoria Malfoy on his doorstep. They were white and shaking. Astoria was crying, and Draco didn't look like he was far behind his wife.

"Scorpius," Draco breathed, shoulders sagging and fist dropping.

"My baby!" Astoria cried.

Scorpius grinned at them, as if nothing was wrong, and waved enthusiastically. "Mother, Father, I met Harry Potter!"

Harry stepped to the side and gestured the Malfoys into the house. He passed Scorpius to Astoria and then cocked an eyebrow at Draco. "A solo Abraxan ride? At his age?" Harry snorted. "And you say I'm the idiot."


	6. Delay

**Prompt:** Delay

* * *

Draco Malfoy waited for his Aunt Bellatrix Lestrange to call him on the lie. His words "I can't—I can't be sure" had silenced her. He knew they wouldn't hold up for long, though. How could they? Even with the bloated, distorted features, Harry Potter was kneeling before him without a doubt. His lie would be discovered any second; then, well, he didn't want to contemplate the punishment for betraying the Dark Lord.

Still, Draco's mind screamed one word at him in an unending loop: _Delay_!

If he confirmed Potter's identity, then his Aunt Bellatrix would Summon the Dark Lord without a moment's hesitation. Draco swallowed. He didn't want that. He hated every second that the Dark Lord was in Malfoy Manor, his childhood home. He hated the Dark Mark on his left forearm, which Branded him as a slave. Most of all, Draco hated his father—Lucius Malfoy—for jeopardizing their family in such a way.

Draco never would have taken the Dark Mark if his mother's life weren't at risk. Narcissa Malfoy doted on him, but didn't spoil him. She encouraged him to walk outside of his father's footsteps, though she would never dare say that in front of his father. Lucius was the Malfoy Patriarch and whole-heartedly believed that his own word was law and everyone in the family must abide by it, no matter how ludicrous it may be.

"It's Potter, isn't it?" Bellatrix demanded. She squeezed Harry's face; her fingernails cut into his cheeks.

_Delay_, his mind screamed again. "I-I don't know." Again, the lie went unopposed.

Nausea welled. Draco fought for calm and control; he couldn't reveal Harry's identity. Harry was the only person who could kill the Dark Lord. Harry Potter was the only person who could save him from an ignominious death at the end of a madman's wand.

"Look harder, Draco!" Bellatrix grabbed him by the neck and forced his face so close to Harry's that their noses were almost touching. "Yes or no—is this Harry Potter?"

Draco stared into Harry's eyes. How could anyone look in them and not realize who he was? No one else possessed such a fierce, brave, unwavering stare. Draco took courage from Harry's composure in such dire circumstances, determined to show Harry that he was worthy of respect—that he wasn't his father—that he could do the right thing. "No," Draco stated, voice hard. "I'm absolutely sure now. This isn't Harry Potter."

Now he just had to delay the truth from being revealed until after Harry escaped. If Draco delayed enough, maybe he would live to dance on the Dark Lord's grave with Harry.


	7. Snuggle

**Prompt:** Snuggle

* * *

Harry Potter rubbed his eyes as he dragged his blanket down the hall. The Snitches flying around the maroon fabric didn't bring the usual smile to his face. His lower lip quivered as he glanced around once again. He had searched every room in Potter Manor; he hadn't found Dragon anywhere. He had never had to sleep without Dragon before. His godfather, Sirius Black, had given him the stuffed animal when he was born. It was a Chinese Fireball, Gryffindor colors, and Harry's constant companion.

"W-where are y-you?"

Sniffling, Harry wiped his tears on his pajama sleeve. Mum and Dad were at a party, and he didn't know where Uncle Peter was. He was so, so, so tired! But he couldn't sleep without Dragon!

"Dragon?" Harry cried. Dragon didn't fly into the room and land on his shoulder, as he always did when Harry called for him.

The lions on Harry's footie pajamas roared. They couldn't make Harry smile either. He poked his head in the Floo Chamber, wondering if he had left Dragon there earlier when he kissed Mum and Dad goodbye. He looked under the couch, behind the drapes, and inside the vases. Dragon wasn't anywhere to be found.

Harry sat before the fireplace, flames drying his tears. He glanced up, and then got a determined look on his face. It wouldn't be the same, but it would be close. Harry left his blanket on the ground, pushed over a small chair, climbed it, and managed to knock the tin of Floo Powder onto the floor by standing on his tiptoes. "I did it!" He clambered off the chair, snatched up his blanket, and threw Floo Powder into the fire until it turned green. Then, remembering Uncle Sirius's directions—though he wasn't _ever_ allowed to Floo by himself—Harry stepped into the flames and made sure he spoke clearly. "Malfoy Manor."

He tumbled out of the fireplace at Malfoy Manor and ignored all the portraits that were staring at him as he climbed the grand staircase and marched through the halls, blanket trailing behind him the entire way. When Harry reached his destination, he twisted the doorknob and hurried inside, face split wide with a yawn. He used the small stairs to get on the big bed and then collapsed beside its occupant.

Draco Malfoy blinked at him blearily, hair mussed and cheeks pillow-creased. "Harry?"

Harry wiggled under the blankets, snuggled against Draco, and grinned. "Dragon."


	8. Wonder

**Prompt:** Wonder

* * *

Harry Potter was a Gryffindor, but he couldn't stop thinking about what the Sorting Hat had said. "You could be great, you know. It's all here in your head. And Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, there's no doubt about that." As his fellow Gryffindors goofed off, got poor grades, learned spells slower than the rest, and earned one detention after another, Harry started wondering if he should have let the Sorting Hat have its way.

Wondering was a dangerous, precarious pastime. Unfortunately, no one had ever told Harry that. If they had, maybe things would have turned out differently—maybe the war wouldn't have been lost (by the Light, that is).

As most things did, it started innocently. Draco Malfoy snapped, "Stupid Gryffindors!" in the hallway.

Harry replied, "You don't know the worst of it. I should've listened to the stupid Sorting Hat. Slytherin can't possibly be worse than this, even if Voldemort was a Slytherin."

Draco stared at him with wide eyes, before his lips curled in a smirk. "Isn't that interesting?" He offered Harry his hand with confidence. "Draco Malfoy."

He shook it, wondering how things would've been different if he had shaken it the first time around. "Harry Potter." The Slytherins didn't ogle his scar or fawn over him. Nothing was the same.

Harry and Draco sat in the thrones before the fireplace in the Slytherin common room. They were only first years. Their influence, though, made them kings among peasants. The Slytherins never attacked when he joined them, and the Gryffindors knew that complaining about his sudden disappearances would only cause him to leave and ignore them more often.

"I wonder," Harry said, fingers dancing along the chess set between them (Draco was teaching him strategy), "what it would be like to have a family."

Draco captured one of Harry's knights. "I wonder what it would be like to not have to answer to anyone." He frowned when Harry captured his last rook. "Want to find out?"

The Malfoy and Potter fortunes were good for something. Soon enough, Harry and Draco were Polyjuicing as one another on a regular basis. A discreet Potions Master sent them as many doses as they requested on the first of every month. Weeks passed, then months, then years. It didn't take long before they would turn around whenever someone called either of their names. It wasn't difficult to study harder, so that they could mirror each other's strengths. Their parents were dead and alive at the same time. Their friends were blood-traitors and purebloods. Their enemies were Voldemort and Dumbledore.

On rare occasions, they wondered what would happen if they were caught. They fooled everyone. However, actions have consequences. On the day that Draco Malfoy came of age, Harry Potter was Polyjuiced as Draco Malfoy. The Polyjuice didn't wear off after an hour, or two, or ten. Draco, who had been himself, wasn't worried in the least. He grasped his double's shoulders, delighted, and asked, "I wonder what Black Magic Mum and Dad will think I've been dabbling with when I return home with a younger twin brother? Valerius Abraxas Malfoy has a dignified ring to it."

"Agreed." Valerius pursed his lips and eyed their stash of black hair. "It should be just enough to last until graduation." Then Harry Potter would vanish, and, with him, any hope of vanquishing the Dark Lord Voldemort.


	9. Choose

**Prompt:** Choose

* * *

"Astoria Greengrass?"

Draco Malfoy's head snapped up from his Potions book. He had a partially finished essay before him. He glared at Harry Potter. "I beg your pardon?" Before Harry had saved him from the Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement, his response would've been more cutting and condescending. Now that the war was over, though, things had changed.

"Rumor has it that you're engaged to Astoria Greengrass," Harry said. He leaned against a bookcase and twirled his wand in his hand. He didn't care if magic wasn't allowed in the library. Madam Pince could suck a lemon while he sorted this out. It's not like it was easy to catch Draco alone. "Is it true?"

Huffing, Draco set down his quill and eyed Harry's wand. "I don't see how that's any of your business, Potter."

"That's where you're wrong." Harry straightened and took a single step forward. After all these years, Draco should have learned it wasn't wise to dance around one of Harry's questions. He would stop at nothing to get an answer. Call it curiosity, Gryffindor stupidity, stubbornness, or whatever else came to mind. When Harry wanted to know something, nothing got in his way of finding out. "Are you engaged to Astoria?"

Color dusted Draco's cheeks. "If you think I'll let you bully me into giving you an—"

Harry snorted. Draco was so melodramatic when he wanted to be. "Don't be an idiot, Malfoy. Just tell me the truth."

Draco pushed back his chair and slammed his hands on the table. Students leaned out of aisles to stare at them with open mouths. Whispering spread through the Hogwarts library. It would've been worse if Draco hadn't been studying in a little used area. "Why do you care? Astoria has nothing to do with you!"

"Wrong again," Harry countered. He didn't need to lean forward to appear threatening; he just pulled his magic to the surface and glared. "When you choose to court my sister-in-law without my permission, I get involved. Daphne and Astoria weren't left unprotected when Voldemort killed their parents for refusing to join him, Malfoy."

"You're married to Daphne Greengrass? How did you manage that? How did you keep it a secret?"

Harry resisted the urge to punch Draco. Why did everyone want to know everything about his personal life? It was endlessly annoying! "Did you propose to Astoria?" Harry hadn't seen her all day, or he would've just asked her. She was a shy, little Ravenclaw, though. Harry wasn't sure that she would admit to her feelings, especially since she knew of his history with Draco. But Harry wasn't the type of person to ruin others' happiness for petty reasons.

"Not yet," Draco whispered, looking stunned. "I haven't asked her yet."

"But you're going to," Harry stated. It wasn't the best or worst rumor that had been confirmed for him all week.

Draco nodded, and then glared defiantly. "Even if it means I have to have you for a brother," he said.

Harry really only had one question left. "Do you love her?"

Draco blushed and glanced away. "Astoria deserves to hear my feelings for her before you do."

"I'll take that as a yes." Harry walked over and swung a companionable arm around Draco's shoulders. "Now, brother, I just want you to remember one thing. Astoria is my precious little sister. If you hurt her, you'll wish I'd never killed Voldemort and that you were still his to torment. If you love her and keep her happy, you'll be my third favorite person in the world." Harry's grin was cutting. "Do we have a deal?"

Shrugging Harry's arm off, Draco stared right into his eyes. Finally, as if it were a great concession, though his gaze betrayed his excitement, Draco said, "Deal."


	10. Reject

**Prompt:** Reject

* * *

Harry Potter smiled at Ron Weasley as they sat on opposite benches of a compartment in the Hogwarts Express. He wasn't anything like the blond boy that Harry had met in Diagon Alley. Ron smiled more, he didn't seem bored, and he didn't remind Harry of Dudley Dursley.

He had been a little annoyed when Ron asked to see his scar. Unfortunately, it seemed like that was something Harry would have to become accustomed to—people staring at him.

"My brother Charlie's a—"

As Ron regaled Harry with information about his older brothers, waving his hands theatrically, Harry wondered if he might have just made his first friend his own age. Hedwig was his very first friend and no one would ever be able to take her place. But having a friend his age would be nice, someone to spend time with, someone who could actually respond when he spoke, someone that Dudley wouldn't be able to frighten away from him.

The words "let's be friends" were on the tip of his tongue when the compartment door opened. The blond boy from Madam Malkin's shop stood in the doorway with a larger boy on either side of him, flanking him like bodyguards.

"So it's true then. What they're saying on the train. Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts." The blond boy, Harry was somewhat embarrassed not to remember his name, pointed at the boys on either side of him. "This is Crabbe, and Goyle. And I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy." Draco smiled at him; it reached his eyes, surprising Harry.

Ron snickered.

Everything open and friendly about Draco shut down in an instant. A sneer painted across his face. He glared cuttingly at Ron. "Think my name's funny, do you?" He balled his hands into fists.

Harry stared between Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley, wondering how he could have misjudged them so badly. Ron had _snickered_ at Draco's name. Like how his Aunt Petunia called his mum a freak, his dad an unnatural drunk, and him _boy_. Names were sacred, a gift of identity and self-worth. How could he have rejected Draco out-of-hand in Diagon Alley, thinking he was similar to Dudley? How could he have almost offered Ron his hand in friendship without realizing that Ron was more like Dudley than he could have ever imagined.

Harry brushed his sweaty palms on his robes, horrified at the mistake he had almost made. He didn't understand enough to survive on his own; that had been made abundantly clear to him. "Draco?"

Draco's mouth snapped shut, sealing away whatever else he might've been about to snap at Ron. "Yes?"

Ignoring Ron's protests, he walked over to Draco. "I'm new at this whole wizard thing. My mum's relatives are"—it took him a moment to remember the right word—"_Muggles_." He couldn't keep the distaste from his voice; he didn't like the Dursleys one bit. "They never taught or told me anything about magic or the wizarding world. Will you teach me what I need to know?"

Draco's jaw dropped, but then snapped shut. He crossed his right arm over his chest in a salute and bowed his head. "The Vigilant and Most Ancient House of Malfoy is honored to receive your trust. I will devote myself to being your magical mentor until you come of age."

"Brilliant," Harry said, though he wasn't entirely sure what Draco meant. He would have his new friend explain it to him later. 'Magical mentor' was good enough for him. He grasped Draco's elbow and steered them out of the compartment and away from the boy who reminded him so much of the Dursleys. "Now, I've got a question for you, Draco. I've been wondering since I saw you on my birthday—what's Quidditch?"

Draco's face lit up, he babbled with enthusiasm, and Harry knew they would be best friends for life.


	11. Tremble

**Prompt:** Tremble

* * *

It took every ounce of Harry Potter's courage to keep himself from wailing for his parents at the top of his lungs. He trembled and wrapped his arms around himself as he stared at the huge crowd in Diagon Alley. People rushed past in a hurry; no one even gave him a passing glance. He huddled against a brick wall, lips quivering.

"Why'd I wander off?"

Harry sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve, even though he knew it would upset his mum. She would forgive him, wouldn't she, when she found him? All he had wanted to do was look at the new broom at Quality Quidditch Supplies. His old broom was so slow. And Harry just knew that he would be able to convince his dad to buy it for him if given half the chance. So he had squeezed between two witches with shopping bags and fought his way through the crowd.

Still trembling, Harry's eyes darted around. He didn't see his parents anywhere. He wanted to scream for them, but that was cowardly. Dad and Uncle Sirius hated cowards.

"What am I s'posed to do?" asked Harry. He wiped his nose on his sleeve again.

It took a minute or two, but Harry finally remembered his parents' rule for if he ever got lost. He was supposed to wait for them to find him. While he waited, he was supposed to stick with anyone who was familiar, because they would help Harry get home. He leaned up on his tiptoes and craned his neck. Nobody looked familiar. He didn't see Uncle Sirius, Uncle Remus, or Uncle Peter. He didn't see Aunt Alice and Uncle Frank. He didn't see—"Oh!"

Harry hurried forward before he lost sight of his new target. He stopped trembling, relieved to have found someone familiar. True, he had never talked to the wizard before; they had never met. The man had certainly never been in Harry's home for dinner, either. But Harry had seen his face on the front page of _the Daily Prophet_ many times, and his dad always talked about him. Lucius Malfoy was "a conceited, stuck-up, arrogant, slimy Slytherin of a Death Eater who bribed his way out of A Can." His dad always said the last part in capitals. Harry didn't understand why someone wanted to put Lucius in a can, but he understood why Lucius didn't want to be in one; even if they Expanded the inside, it wouldn't be comfortable for naps.

Grinning, and feeling not the least bit afraid anymore, Harry latched onto Lucius's hand. Only, someone was already holding it—a little blond boy that looked exactly like Lucius Malfoy, except his nose wasn't in the air. "Let go!" the blond boy commanded. "This is my dad." His glare made Harry laugh. Uncle Remus glared scarier than that at Uncle Sirius during his time of the month.

"Draco," Lucius said. He didn't sound slimy, or like death. He sounded like Harry's mum had when Harry met the Minister for Magic and told him that he looked like a fat Muggle. Harry didn't like his Uncle Vernon at all. Once he turned Dudley into a pig, though, he never had to go back for a visit again. "Mind your manners."

Draco's cheeks puffed out, like the chipmunks that lived in the tree outside Harry's bedroom window. "I'm Draco Malfoy. It's nice to meet you." He looked up at Lucius for approval. When Lucius nodded, Draco turned back to Harry and said, "Now let go of _my_ dad." He stamped his foot.

Harry patted Draco on the head, like he petted Padfoot when Padfoot whined. It always worked. "I'm Harry Potter." He grinned. "I can't let go of your dad. _My_ dad said I have to stay with him."

Lucius made a funny noise in his throat; it looked like someone had hit him in the face with a Bludger. Harry laughed and laughed. "James Potter told you to stay with me?" he asked in the voice Harry's mum used when she thought his dad wasn't telling the truth.

"Uh huh." Harry nodded. Harry used both his hands to tug on Lucius and Draco. "Come on, Draco's dad. I haven't had any ice cream today."

Moments later, Draco was tugging with him. "Dad, I haven't had ice cream either. Please. Please. Please!" Draco was very good at making begging eyes; Harry might ask him for lessons later.

Lucius caved. "Very well." Harry and Draco cheered and dragged him to the ice cream shop. He kept mumbling, but Harry caught what he said. "James Potter" and "trust" and "his only son" and "dreaming" and "poisoned, maybe?" But even though Lucius, for some reason Harry didn't understand, thought he was dreaming, Lucius acted just like Harry's own dad did. He kept other people from touching them, and he didn't complain when they rambled and interrupted each other, and he bought them ice cream, not even getting upset when Harry and Draco got so excited they waved their arms and sent their scoops flying. He merely rolled his eyes, stopped the scoops of ice cream in mid-air, and floated them back onto the cones.

By the time Harry's dad finally found him, James Potter was trembling more than Harry had been earlier and looked like he had just lost a prank war with a mean ghost. The Malfoys were fun! Harry decided that he really liked a conceited, stuck-up, arrogant, slimy Slytherin of a Death Eater who bribed his way out of A Can. Hopefully he would get a chance to convince Draco that having "a reckless, arrogant, bullying Gryffindor of a blood-traitor who never used his brain" for a father was a good thing, too.


	12. Unwind

**Prompt:** Unwind

* * *

People thought that Harry Potter wasn't afraid of anything. After all, Professor Lupin had stowed away the boggart in third year when Harry walked up; the boggart hadn't changed, and that must have surely been why Professor Lupin hid it so quickly. All it did was incite more rumors about Harry's bravery, courage, and fearlessness in the face of danger.

"He's escaped from Death Eaters."

"Potter killed a basilisk."

"Potter lives in the Muggle world."

"He fought off a horde of dementors."

"Harry performed the Wronski Feint from two-hundred feet in the air! I'm not lying!"

"He defeated You-Know-Who as a baby, and has outsmarted him ever since."

Even when they hated him, even when they thought he was an attention-seeking liar and a glory hound, no one ever accused Harry Potter of being a coward.

A second-year Hufflepuff shuffled toward Harry in the corridor, cheeks red. "I want to be fearless like you when I'm older." The boy raced off after his friends without waiting for a response.

"Fearless?" Harry scoffed. He pressed a hand over his racing heart. He expected it to rupture every second, but it hadn't yet. It had been thumping a furious beat in his chest since the first night he met his godfather, after Sirius Black escaped Azkaban and came to Hogwarts. That was years ago, and it never slowed or calmed—not even when he was asleep. The nightmares that haunted him mirrored the reality he saw in his godfather's eyes. "I'm terrified," he confessed.

The Potter Family had a secret that few were privy too. Every male of the main bloodline was born with White Magic—pure and powerful and dangerous. Wizards who only possessed White Magic were crushed by the cruel reality of the world, with all its darkness and depravities. If left alone, they would lose their minds. Their magic would lash out, seeking to destroy all evil. It burned up until nothing was left, either killing its master or rendering him a Squib, at best.

Mother Magic was fond of the Honorable and Most Ancient House of Potter, and she always had been. So when each male child was born, she Twined his magic with another boy's—one who possessed Dark or Black Magic—to act as his sentinel, brother, confidant, and balance. She bound their magic together so that they would steady each other. It was a ritual so profound and permanent that nothing in the world could unwind the boys' Twined magic.

"Harry?"

He glanced over his shoulder. "Draco? What're you doing here? You have Herbology now."

"I told Professor Sprout I was sick. I could feel your fear smashing against my mind from the greenhouses," Draco stated as he stalked forward.

"I'm not scared, Draco," Harry said. He hated it when his erratic emotions caused Draco to leave class to hunt him down. He hadn't been hurt or attacked … he was just a mess inside.

"Don't feed me that lie, Harry, I can—" Draco snarled.

"I'm terrified." Sirius's face came to mind again. Harry bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. It didn't help distract him. Draco's eyes were the same shade of gray as Sirius's were, and Harry was terrified of what he might see if he met Draco's gaze.

Draco drew his wand and scanned the corridor. "Of what?"

He felt tears prickling and couldn't remember the last time he had cried. He wouldn't do so now. His mouth felt dry, and his tongue was suddenly so big Harry thought he would choke on it. Harry almost couldn't force the words out. "That Voldemort will succeed in killing me. That I'll leave you as splintered, broken, and insane as my father left Sirius. That you'll inherit his crazed gray eyes and delusions, searching everywhere for someone beyond your reach."

With a shudder, Draco rasped out, "That won't happen."

"You don't know that, Draco," Harry said.

"_That won't happen_."

Gritting his teeth, but accepting the truth, Harry said, "You can't know tha—"

"That won't happen!" Draco screamed. Even though Harry was alive and standing right in front of him, for just a moment Draco's eyes were as crazed as Sirius's were on a daily basis. "You're my Twined, my brother, chosen by Mother Magic herself. I won't let that happen, Harry. I won't."

"How?"

Nausea rolled down their bond, almost forcing Harry to his knees. The sensation was strong enough that he was nearly physically sick all over the floor. It was accompanied by the strongest wave of determination that Harry had felt from Draco in his entire life. Whatever Draco had decided, whatever his plan was, Harry knew that nothing would be able to steer Draco from his chosen course. That was as terrifying as his vivid imagination painting pictures of what would happen to Draco if Harry died.

A sneer twisted Draco's face. "Sirius Black is a coward. If he had cared about your father a hundredth as much as I treasure you … he would have been willing to do anything to keep your father alive. _Anything_."

Harry didn't correct Draco; he privately agreed. He would do anything to keep Draco safe—even uselessly fight against the most powerful Dark Lord in history.

"I won't let you die, brother. I'll be your spy," Draco whispered. His face was pale, yet resolute. "I'm going to take the Dark Mark."


	13. Steal

**Prompt:** Steal

* * *

Draco Malfoy had just landed on the Quidditch Pitch when Harry Potter bowled into him and slammed him down against the grass. "Have you lost your mind, Potter?" Draco spat.

"I won't let you steal her away from me," Harry said. He vibrated with rage, hands fisted in Draco's Quidditch robes. He wanted nothing more than to bash Draco's blond hair against the ground until his head split open. If Harry had known this was going to happen, then he would have undoubtedly left Draco to die in the Room of Requirement during the Battle for Hogwarts.

"What are you going on about?" Draco lay still, but his every muscle was coiled to fight back.

Harry leaned down and glared harder than he ever had in his life. He wouldn't be surprised if murder shone in his eyes with how Draco froze up and paled. "I've lost everything that mattered to me too many times, Malfoy. I'm not going to lose her, too. Stay away from her, or leave the country. It's your choice." Even giving Draco that option was painful; living on the run for a year had taught Harry to be vicious and decisive in his victories. Mercy would only lead to more pain, and Harry had experienced more than his fair share of that in life.

Draco's expression turned mutinous. "I don't know what you've heard, and I don't care, Potter." His voice was so cold that Harry almost thought frost might form on his lips. "I've already asked her to bond with me; she said yes. Nothing you threaten me with could get me to sever my engagement bond with her." He sneered. "You can't just decide a lady belongs to you, Potter." Disdain dripped from every word.

"Liar!"

"I'm not lying!"

He shook with the urge to punch Draco until his nose broke and blood painted his skin. He didn't know what Draco hoped to gain by such twisted lies, but he wouldn't fall for them. "She's engaged to me, Malfoy!" Harry declared, remembering the shy smile on her face as she said yes. His heart ached. "Our engagement bond is intact, so there's no way she can be engaged to you. Stop lying and _stay away_ from her."

"I'm not a liar, Potter." Draco leaned up with a mocking smirk. "I'll prove it. _Finite_." A glamour high on Draco's left cheek vanished. A small coat of arms crafted from his fiancée's magic marked him; it was the Greengrass family crest. Harry felt Draco's spell cancel an identical glamour on his own cheek, revealing the same coat of arms in a different color of magic.

Harry gaped, before poking Draco's mark. It didn't smear or wipe away. "Huh."

Draco smacked his hand away. "Don't touch it, you idiot." His gaze was riveted high on Harry's face. "Daphne? I would've figured you for someone more ... bold. She's a shy, little thing." Draco eyed him with something that might be grudging respect. "Her family's very traditional. I'm surprised you would bother."

"She's worth it!" Harry said. Daphne Greengrass was everything he loved, wanted, and needed. He would rather focus on the memory of her face and form than acknowledge that he had assaulted Draco with insufficient information. "Who are you to comment, anyway? Astoria's what, fifteen?"

Flushing, Draco gritted his teeth. "She's almost sixteen." He pointedly looked away. "Now get off, you lout, before you crush me." After Harry dropped onto the grass beside him, still fixated on Draco's engagement mark in disbelief, Draco sat up with a groan. He rubbed his ribs. "_Brothers_ apologize after hurting each other, Potter," Draco said snidely.

Hmm. Interesting. Harry had given up thinking about what siblings would be like years ago. It seemed that he would have to rethink and adjust accordingly. It was a good thing he hadn't killed Draco; Daphne would have been upset with him on Astoria's behalf. Harry stretched, stood up, and brushed the bits of grass off his clothes. "I'll remember that in the future, when we're each married." He headed back to the castle, pausing to smirk over his shoulder. "Assuming, of course, that you don't stuff up your engagement and lose her. Astoria and Smith looked mighty cozy in the greenhouses, where he tutors her in Herbology."

Draco spluttered and stormed toward the greenhouses.

Harry laughed and went to join Daphne and Astoria for tea in the kitchen. He grinned at Draco's rapidly retreating back. "_Brothers_ are obligated to play pranks on each other."


	14. Delight

**Prompt:** Delight

* * *

"You don't fool me, Potter," Ron Weasley spat. "You used Dark Magic to get your name in the Goblet of Fire!" He glared and took a step forward, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan on either side of him. "The Headmaster might tolerate you because you're the precious boy who lived, but you don't fool me."

"Aw, the Weasel thinks you're precious. Be careful, Harry. He might start stalking you, like the Weaselette does," Draco Malfoy said snidely.

Harry Potter snickered at his best friend's quip. The Weaselette was disturbingly stalkerish. She wasn't even on his list of witches who would do if the ones actually worth having were otherwise romantically interested. He would be the first Potter to bond with a foreign witch in generations before he consorted with a witch who was too weak to resurrect the Dark Lord—even with the use of a Horcrux.

"Don't talk about my sister like that!" Ron glared and pointed his wand at Draco, even though he had never successfully cursed either of them in the past four years; he was stupid enough to keep trying. Would his wand backfire on him yet again? Watching him vomit slugs never got old.

"I'll talk about her however I want," Draco replied. "Everyone knows she pants after Harry like a Crup in heat." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "Never mind, that's insulting to Crups. The Weaselette pants after him like mongrel in heat."

"She does not! You're one to talk! Parkinson—"

Draco scoffed. "Let's leave pureblood ladies out of this. Didn't your mother teach you any manners?"

"You bas—"

Harry wasn't in the mood to witness another of Ron's tantrums, and Draco had been sufficiently insulting already; he should be satisfied with the purple color of Ron's face. "Whatever, I'm done here," Harry said. His wand wasn't in his hand; he was skilled enough that he could draw it and curse Ron before a single spell could pass Ron's lips. Hours of dueling practice with Evan Rosier and Lucius Malfoy had prepared he and Draco for just about any situation.

"Cheater," Dean said with a sneer; it was inferior to Draco's kindest sneer.

Harry turned and walked away, with Draco at his side. They had been inseparable since they met in Diagon Alley and Harry learned that the _Muggles_ weren't his only family. Even distant relations were better than the Dursleys. He was delighted to learn he wasn't alone. At Malfoy Manor, he never wanted for anything. His birth parents' plans had left him with _Muggles_, being neglected and bullied, without knowing anything of his heritage.

He was a wizard; he deserved better.

Loosening his green and silver tie, Harry ignored the Gryffindors' continuing taunts. He only spun around when Ron started to cast a spell. Before Ron could finish, he turned into a red weasel, which bounced against the walls and floor.

"I can't stand a wizard who curses another's back. Dishonorable!" Mad-Eye Moody declared. He slammed Ron—the Amazing Bouncing Weasel—into stairs and portraits, only grudgingly releasing him when Minerva McGonagall hurried forward and objected.

Harry grinned at the Polyjuiced professor. Bartemius Crouch Jr. had entered Harry's name for him into the Goblet of Fire, after Headmaster Dumbledore decided to cast an age-line. For the next ritual to work, the Dark Lord needed willingly given blood of a champion. Soon enough, Harry's adoptive father would return, and the wizarding world would be cleansed.


End file.
